


home

by Kamaevis (orphan_account)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Cheating/Infidelity, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Vriska and Terezi are kind of background??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-08
Updated: 2013-09-08
Packaged: 2017-12-25 23:13:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/958751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Kamaevis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a little funny, you think, that you're the one who gets kicked out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	home

It's a little funny, you think, that you're the one who gets kicked out.  
  
Vriska had looked apologetic, at least. As apologetic as she could have when she was sprawled on the couch half naked with her best friend mouthing at her neck. Terezi only stopped long enough to glance your way—you don't know why, it's not like she could _see_ you—but she hadn't said anything and just returned to kissing at your girlfriend's throat.  
  
“You should go,” Vriska had said. For a second, you kidded yourself into thinking she was talking to Terezi. But she'd been looking at you, her blue eyes soft like they hadn't been for a long time. You hadn't the heart to say anything, to protest, so you walked right back out the door, not even caring that you'd left your backpack on the floor.  
  
You had no where else to go, so you ended up wandering. You knew your way around the city well enough, and it was warm enough that you might even be able to sleep on a bench for a few nights. The college had shower connected to the gym that were open to all students, so it wasn't really that big of a deal. You felt kind of hollow and the lack of a bed to sleep in didn't really strike you as a huge problem.  
  
You've just found a relatively large bench in the park that wasn't already occupied by one of the various vagrants loitering there when Vriska texts you. The chorus of How Do I Live wails at you from your pocket and you cringe visibly as you fumble to make it _stop._ The text is short and hasty.  
  
 _sorry. get your stuff later_  
  
It doesn't make you feel any better, and you make a point of shutting your phone off before you flop down onto your side and wonder where the hell you went wrong.  
  
It's not like you and Vriska hadn't had any problems. You got frustrated with her lack of regard for the law, and she got irritated that you were spending almost all of your time on school work. There were a lot of fights, a lot of harsh words on both sides, and you'd spent more than a few nights sleeping on the couch.  
  
 _The couch where she was now fucking Terezi._  
  
But it's not like you expected her to _cheat._ Things had been getting better; not much better, but better nonetheless. You'd been trying; _she'd_ been trying. You were working through your differences and things had been on the mend.  
  
At least, you thought they'd been. You were pretty obviously wrong about that.  
  
You lay on the bench and stare at the darkening sky. Maybe it was your fault. You had been neglecting her; but you couldn't slack if you wanted to keep your scholarship. And, honestly, if she hadn't done a lot of her less-than-legal gambling, you probably wouldn't have been able to pay rent, and it wasn't really fair of you to get upset at her means of income when you weren't even employed.  
  
When was the last time you even took her on a date?  
  
When was the last time you'd even _spoken_ with her without it devolving into another argument?  
  
Yeah, you were a pretty shit boyfriend.  
  
You heave a frustrated sigh and pull your glasses off your face so you can rub at your eyes.  
  
As the sun vanishes beyond the horizon, a chill settles over the city and seeps right through your flannel. Huffing, you roll onto your side and curl in on yourself as much as you can manage without falling off the bench, attempting to conserve some semblance of warmth.  
  
“Dude.”  
  
Startled, you jolt and nearly fling yourself off the bench anyway. You roll over and find a guy hovering over you, his brow furrowed and his lips twisted into a confused frown. You recognize him vaguely from your biology class, mostly because he's peering at you from behind a pair of aviators that you've never seen him take off.  
  
“Why the fuck are you sleeping on a bench?” He asks, and there's something in his tone that makes you defensive.  
  
You scowl at him, “Why's that any of your business?”  
  
“'s not,” He replies, unfazed, “Just curious. I've seen you around; John, right?”  
  
“Yeah. And you're- Dane?”  
  
“Dave, actually. My bro didn't hate me _that_ much.”  
  
You snort and the corner of his lip curls up like he's pleased.  
  
A moment of silence passes between you and he shifts his weight from foot to foot before shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans.  
“So dude, a bench?”  
  
“I got kicked out.”  
  
He seems to catch on that it's not quite that simple, but he doesn't press.  
  
“I've got a couch that's probably more comfortable. If you want.”  
  
You shouldn't. You barely know this guy—you didn't even know his name before this. You've got no reason to trust him, but you also don't have a reason _not_ to trust him. He also has a couch, which is a definite plus, so you figure that common sense can be damned.  
  
“Sure.”  
  
He offers you a hand and helps you up, informing you that he doesn't live too far away. You walk along silently, listening to him mumble to himself. When you step a little closer and listen a little more attentively, you realize that he's- he's rapping. The realization startles a laugh out of you and he turns his head to you so fast you worry he might get whiplash.  
  
“What?” He asks.  
  
“You're rapping,” You say, “You're the whitest dude I've ever seen and you're _rapping.”_  
  
For a second, he looks legitimately offended and you worry that you've fucked up—way to go, Egbert, first you get kicked out by your cheating girlfriend, then ou insult the guy who's _offering you a bed for the night_ —but then he scoffs and says, “I throw down the sickest beats your nerdy ass ears have ever had the honor of listening to. If you can't accept that, leave now, Egbert.”  
  
You blink, “You know my last name?”  
  
He freezes for just a second before turning abruptly and continuing the walk to his apartment. You don't miss the flush creeping up toward the tips of his ears, though, and you hurry to fall back in step with him.  
  
“You pay that much attention to me?”  
  
He makes a disgruntled sound and hunches his shoulder. He's gone red beneath his shades and you'd probably think that was cute if you weren't remembering— _Vriska's cheeks are flushed almost as dark as the marks Terezi's leaving down the column of her throat._  
  
“You're hard to miss,” He mumbles, and you're sure he's looking away even if you can't see his eyes.  
  
You snort humorlessly, “Are you kidding? I'm like the _epitome_ of easy to miss.”  
  
“No way,” he makes a wild gesture at you with his hands, “You're like. All. Y'know, like, exotic.”  
  
You laugh, then, “Exotic? Dude, I grew up in Seattle.”  
  
“Sure don't look it,” He huffs quietly, “You're weirdly...like...alluring.”  
  
“My girlfriend didn't think so.”  
  
That stops you both, and you feel like shit even as the words are coming out of your mouth. Dave falls completely silent and, wow, John, way to royally fuck things up. That's all you seem to be good at. You resist the urge to drag your fingers through your hair and instead bite your lip and stew in your own self loathing.  
It feels like it's been hours by the time Dave stops and leads you into an apartment building. The elevator ride up to his floor is tense and you feel like you're suffocating the entire time. He takes you down the hall and unlocks a door and gestures for you to step inside.  
  
“We've got a guest, Rose!” He calls into the house, his voice startling you after the heavy silence.  
  
Barely a second passes before a girl emerges from the hall following the sound of an opening door. She's a bit taller than you are with white-blonde hair and black painted lips—you've seen her on campus before.  
  
Her eyes sweep over you before she smiles politely, “Evening. You're John, right? Vriska's boyfriend?”  
  
“Ex, actually.”  
  
She doesn't seem particularly surprised by your correction, and she turns to address Dave.  
  
“I thought we agreed to inform each other before sexiling.”  
  
Both you and Dave splutter, and by the sly grin that curls her lips, you can guess that she knows full well that you're not here for sex.  
  
“Rose, that's not-” Dave's flush is working its way down his neck, now, “God, you're such an asshole.”  
  
Her smile widens into something a little more fond and a little less devious, “You're just too sensitive. I assume John will be sleeping on the couch?”  
  
You shrug, “If that's alright.”  
  
“It's fine. I was just headed to bed, actually,” She crosses the room to hug Dave and place a kiss on his cheek, ignoring the face he pulls, “Don't be up too late, kids.”  
  
She waggles her fingers at you and then disappears back into what you assume is her bedroom.  
  
Dave shoulders past you and nods toward the small couch tucked against the far wall, “There's the couch, obviously. I'll grab you a pillow and some blankets.”  
  
You nod and watch him vanish down a hallway before going over to sit on the couch. It's not terribly comfortable, but it's worlds better than the park bench, so you're not going to complain. Dave shuffles in a few minutes later with a fleece blanket, a pillow, and a pair of basketball shorts. He dumps them on you and gives you directions to the bathroom, where there is apparently an extra tooth brush beneath the sink.  
  
You take the shorts with an awkward smile and hurry out of the room. This was probably a bad idea. At least if you had stayed the night in the park you wouldn't have had to subject other people to the horror show that is your lack of social graces.  
  
After you change and brush your teeth, you spend a while studying your reflection. Your skin is a dark shade of brown which would be far more appealing if it didn't have a sickly yellow tint courtesy of your Japanese grandmother. Your eyes are too small and your nose is too big and your lips would be nice enough if your front teeth weren't so bulbous that they poked out unless you made a conscious effort at hiding them. You're not exactly fat but you could stand to lose some of the softness around your stomach and thighs.  
  
You suppose it's not surprising that Vriska, with her curly blonde hair and sharp blue eyes and sloping curves, didn't want anything to do with you anymore.  
Swallowing around the swelling in your throat, you decide that you've spent long enough picking yourself apart and you should probably go to sleep so you can wake up early enough to get back to your—her—apartment and get your backpack before class.  
  
When you return to the living room, Dave has laid out the blanket and pillow and is sitting at the edge of the couch. Unsure how to ask him to move politely—it is his apartment, after all—you sit down at the opposite end and avoid looking at him.  
  
After a few moments of stifling silence, he speaks, “So. Rough breakup?”  
  
You think for a moment— _flushed skin, quiet breaths, fingers that aren't yours splayed on her hips_ —and mumble a quiet, “Yeah.”  
  
“So this probably isn't a one night thing?”  
  
You nod.  
  
“You can, uh,” He clears his throat, his discomfort obvious even with the obscurity of his glasses, “Stay as long as you need. I mean, until you find a place. You don't have to, just- you know, a suggestion.”  
  
“Yeah,” you say, “Thanks.”  
  
He nods once, curtly, and stands with jerky motions. He mumbles a quick goodnight and hurriedly retreats to his bedroom. Letting out a breath you didn't realize you were holding, you pull off your glasses and fold them on the coffee table. After situating yourself beneath the admittedly rather comfortable blanket, you reach up and turn the lamp off before setting an alarm for six on your phone and laying your head down. A part of you is glad that your mind settles quickly and doesn't leave you pondering your own failures for too long, but the other part would've preferred that to the dream you have.  
  
Vriska's in it, which is rather unsurprising. She's sitting beside you on a cliff overhanging an abyssal void. Her fingers are entwined with yours and her head is on your shoulder and it's quiet. It's quiet and soft and you find that you can't breathe, that your chest is empty but for a sharp, nauseating pain. She hums quietly, some song that she used to listen to constantly, and when she stops, you turn to look at her. She's already staring at you, the blue of her irises and the black of her pupiles replaced by an empty sort of white. She tilts her head, the curls of her hair falling over her shoulder, and she mouths your name. Her hand in yours grows unbearably hot but you can't let go. You watch as she burns from the inside out, her skin bubbling and smoldering and her face melting away to reveal charred and splintered bones. When she fades away, leaving nothing but the pain in your chest and the burn on your hand, the cliff vanishes from beneath you and you fall.  
  
You wake with Dave shouting in your face, his hands braced on your shoulders. It takes you a moment to come back to yourself, to gasp in breaths and remember where you are and who this guy is and that it was a dream, you were _sleeping._  
  
The lamp is on again and Rose is hovering to Dave's right, her brow pinched.  
  
“John.”  
  
Dave's voice almost startles you and you look away from Rose and back to him. His shades are sitting crookedly on his nose, like he'd put them on in a hurry, and on some sleep-addled whim, you reach up and pull them off. You're not expecting them to be as weighted as they are and Dave obviously wasn't expecting you to _grab them_ and you end up having the glasses fall on your face and the sharp pain as they connect with the bridge of your nose is enough to wake you completely.  
  
For a moment you and Dave just stare at each other, the both of you equally shocked, and you note that his eyes are red—coupled with the fact that his skin is white as a sheet and his hair equally so you can figure out that he's probably albino—and it only takes a second for him to snarl out a swear, grab his glasses back and storm away.  
  
You blink up at the ceiling until Rose clears her throat and you're attention is drawn back to her. She's frowning, now, staring at you with slightly narrowed eyes.  
  
“That was rude,” She says plainly.  
  
You swallow, “I didn't- I didn't mean to do that.”  
  
“You're tired and disoriented,” She says, “But it was still rude.”  
  
“I should apologize-” You sit up and a wave of nausea crashes over you. You grind your teeth and seal your lips shut and look up at Rose, panicked.  
  
It takes her a second of staring to realize and then she darts off to the kitchen. Some appliances clang and then she's dashing back with a bucket. You grab it as soon as it's in reach and vomit up the contents of your stomach, which mostly ends up being a lot of stomach acid and Mountain Dew. You dry heave a few more times and manage a bit more spittle and then the nausea passes.  
  
Rose is sitting beside you, her hand resting between your shoulder blades, “You can apologize tomorrow. I'll go wash that out. You sleep.”  
  
You feel light headed and your stomach is churning and your eyes feel a bit like someone was trying to suck them out of your head, so you don't have much strength to protest. She takes the bucket from you and you sit and focus on not retching again until she returns. She leaves the bucket on the floor for easy access, and then she watches you as you move yourself slowly back into a horizontal position.  
  
You wish idly that your dad was here, and when she brushes your hair from your forehead and checks your temperature with the back of her hand, you wonder if this is what it'd be like to have a mom. She smiles kind of sadly at you and tells you that you should skip class tomorrow because you're running a fever, and it's not until after she's already turned out the light and left that you realize that you hadn't thanked her.  
  
You close your eyes and don't dream.  
  
\--  
  
When you wake there's a smoldering pile of something that looks like it could've once been eggs along side a hastily scrawled note informing you that Dave is still asleep, Rose went to class, you still need to apologize, and if you steal anything or hurt Dave in any way her girlfriend has a chainsaw that she's not afraid to use.  
  
Your head is still throbbing and you wobble when you stand. Your skin is flushed and feverish, overly sensitive to the cool air of the apartment and even the feeling of the basketball shorts shifting against your legs is enough to make you grind your teeth. A part of you wants to go scour the kitchen for some sort of medicine to take the edge off your fever, but in your state, you'd probably end up breaking something.  
  
Your best bet will be to find Dave, apologize for pulling his glasses off last night, and having him get you medicine since it is his apartment.  
  
There are four doors in the hallway, one of which you know is the bathroom. One door isn't quite as wide as the others, so you assume it's a closet, which leaves you with two identical doors and no way to tell which is Dave's. Taking a guess that makes sense to your foggy mind—Rose would have the room closest to the bathroom because she's a girl, yes, obviously—you amble up to the door you hope is Dave's and knock.  
  
No response.  
  
You knock again, this time calling, “Dave?”  
  
Your voice is a little slurred and raspy and you probably sound drunk off your ass, and there's still no response, so you knock again.  
  
“Dave, I need t' talk t' you.”  
  
Nothing.  
  
He's either an extremely heavy sleeper or you taking off his glasses upset him so much that he's ignoring you. Good going, John; offend the guy who was nice enough to give you a place to sleep after your girlfriend cheated on you. God, your dad would be disappointed.  
  
You turn around and immediately regret it with the way your head spins. You slump back against the door and slide to the floor, squeezing your eyes shut. Fuck, where did this fever even come from? You were feeling fine yesterday, thanks. So maybe you'd been pulling a few all nighters with too much coffee and Mountain Dew than could be considered healthy, but it had never been a problem _before._ You haven't felt this shitty since the time you were in elementary school and waited for the bus in a blizzard for an hour and a half because you didn't realize school had been canceled. Crossing your arms on your knees and burying your face in them, you groan because you're pathetic and right now you totally understand why Vriska would prefer Terezi.  
  
“Um.”  
  
Dave's voice startles you and it only then occurs to you that you could've been knocking on the wrong door.  
  
He's standing a few feet away from you, shades in place over his eyes and his hands shoved into the pockets of his basketball shorts. His brow is furrowed and his lips are set into a hard line.  
  
“Sorry,” You mumble before he can say anything else, “Sorry about y'r shades. Din't mean t'-”  
  
In a flash, he's at your side, and you blink blearily at him because seriously, how did anyone move that fast? The furrow in his brow deepens and he presses a hand to your forehead.  
  
“You're burning up, idiot,” He grunts, stooping over to help you up.  
  
“Sorry,” You mumble again.  
  
“Don't fucking apologize, Jesus Christ,” he shoves you back onto the couch, “Stay here. I'll get you some ibuprofen,” he eyes the plate on the table, the one Rose had left for you, and pulls a face, “I thought I banned her from the kitchen.”  
  
He takes the plate and heads into the kitchen and you wait, feeling once again like a child. God, you miss your dad.  
  
“Sorry. I don't have a daddy kink.”  
  
Oh god you're thinking out loud.  
  
“Yeah, you are.”  
  
If you weren't already fevered, your cheeks would be flushing. Dave returns with a small glass of water and a trio of circular red pills. You think you should probably be a bit more leery—you barely know this guy, after all, he could be drugging you—but you're tired and sick and you already slept on the guy's couch. Go big or go home, right?  
  
Well, that doesn't give you much of a choice; you don't actually have a home right now.  
  
So you take the pills, swallow them dry and chase them with a few sips of water because your stomach is turbulent enough that you don't want to risk gulping. Dave waits impatiently for you to finish then takes the glass and returns to the kitchen. While he's gone, you wiggle back under the blanket and curl up on your side.  
  
Dave returns and stands at the end of the couch by your feet.  
  
“Scoot,” He orders, and you curl your legs up tighter so he can flop down. He snatches a remote from the table and it's only then that you noticed the small television and Xbox set up across the room. You observe the television long enough to see that he's playing Grand Theft Auto, and then you fall asleep.  
  
You don't remember much of the dream you have but you remember Vriska's voice and the feeling of her fingers sliding out of yours and a deep, smothering ache in your chest.  
  
There are tears on your cheeks when you wake up, but you don't appear to have freaked out like you did the previous night. Dave's still playing the game, so he's either got quite the impressive attention span or you haven't been asleep for long. You still feel kind of sluggish and dreary but the pain in your head is muted and you don't feel like you're going to burn out of your skin, so that's a plus. You shift a little bit and tuck yourself more comfortably against the couch and Dave turns a little in your direction.  
  
“Feel any better?” He asks, and you nod silently, not trusting your voice. He doesn't speak again.  
  
You bear the silence for as long as you can, watching him race around town in the game, but then the words come out before you can stop them,  
  
“I walked in on Vriska having sex with her best friend.”  
  
Dave makes a startled noise and drops his controller. He turns to you, mouth open, and makes a weird noise before collecting himself.  
  
“Ever heard of oversharing?” He asks, and your fever's being suppressed enough that you can actually feel your ears heat up.  
  
“I just-” You halt, not sure how to properly word your thought process because the more you actually think about it the less sense it makes, “You were...upset. When I took off your shades. So I figured it was personal, I guess? And I just- I figured maybe if I told you something personal we'd- I don't know- be even?”  
  
There's a long pause, a stifling silence that makes you want to get dressed and bolt, sickness be damned, but then Dave laughs. He _laughs._ It's kind of wheezy and awkward and not really infectious but you smile in relief because at least he doesn't hate you. When he calms himself down, he slumps in the seat and stares at you for a minute.  
  
“Is this the fever, or are you always this bad with people?”  
  
You wrinkle your nose, “I'm fantastic with people, thanks. You invited me into your house for a reason, right?”  
  
He snorts and silence settles over you again. It's not as suffocating. It's almost comfortable. You wonder idly why you never talked to Dave before, why you'd never befriended him. You'd been kind of wrapped up in school and Vriska, you guess. You didn't have much time for friends when you had to make time for homework and your girlfriend.  
  
It's a little while after Dave's resumed his game and you're comfortable enough to make snarky comments about his playing that he says, “So, cheating, huh?”  
  
Your mouth snaps shut and your chest tightens but you release a breath, fight back the images that rise to your mind and nod, “Yeah.”  
  
“That's rough, buddy.”  
  
“Buddy?”  
  
“Too friendly?”  
  
You laugh, “Nah. Just not something I thought would be in your vocabulary.”  
  
“You're right. It's pretty lame.”  
  
A beat of silence and then Dave turns to you again, “Seriously, though, dude. You can stay as long as you want. Rose might make you pay rent, but we're not gonna kick you out.”  
  
You smile, wide and genuine and there's a pain in your chest that's not going to abate and you miss Vriska already—miss her laugh and the way she'd get gentle only when she thought you'd gone to sleep and the way she'd chew on her lip to keep herself from crying when you watched Con Air—but you think there's something here, with Rose and Dave. You feel like this could be home, that there's potential for friendships here that run deeper than those you have now. So you smile and nod and tell him that, yeah, you'll definitely stay.

**Author's Note:**

> this was a prompt that got away from me haha


End file.
